Do You Talk to Yourself?

In honor of Saturday, of fun, I am going to pass around some mimosas for brunch here at the blog. And tell you, I have officially LOST IT. My mind.

See, writers spend a LOT of time alone. We spend a LOT of time in our heads. There are some tell-tale signs when you've cracked. You've spent TOO much time alone. TOO much time with characters speaking to you. When that deadline is looming a little TOO closely.

So here's mine.

Yesterday, I picked up one of my dogs from the vet after she was neutered (and ladies and gentlemen . . . she was essentially a rescue dog--spay and neuter your pets!). She's a tiny little thing, and so, so sweet. And I naturally am babying her post-surgery. And I was talking to her . . . and I lapsed into speaking about myself in third person. AND I called myself "Mommy"--to my dog. It's not like I don't already have FOUR actual HUMAN children.

Now, don't get me wrong. I love my dog. I love all my dogs (I have three . . . Dreamer and her "twin" adoptee, Cosmo--littermates--and disobedient corgi, Chip). And I do talk to them. But usually, it's more like, "Come. Sit. Here's dinner. Let's go. Time for our walk." I sometimes will say, "Chip, where did I put my car keys?" I seem to think he'll tell me one day.

But this was different. "Mommy is going to get you a nice soft blanket. Mommy needs to make dinner for the kids. Mommy needs to do some laundry." I mean, first of all, who is this Mommy person? And second . . . does the DOG need to discuss this with me?

This is deadline time. And now I know I'm losing it.

Anyway else have telltale signs they're cracking under pressure? And . . . more importantly, I just gotta know . . . how many writers talk OUT LOUD (in the head doesn't count) to themselves? Or their pets? And what kind of conversations are you having?

There could be a collective Baker Act hearing.

Coming Up for Air

I am a putterer.

According to the dictionary, this means:

1. to busy or occupy oneself in a leisurely, casual, or ineffective manner: to putter in the garden.
2. to move or go in a specified manner with ineffective action or little energy or purpose: to putter about the house on a rainy day.

This isn't really an accurate description for what I do, then. First of all, when I putter in the garden, it's not ineffective. I am tending my plants and helping them grow, getting rid of weeds, plucking off dead blooms. When I putter in my house, it's PURPOSEFUL (in direct contradiction to definition #2). I usually tackle something I've been putting off awhile. Like filing. Or cleaning my desk. Or organizing my research. Or going through my kids' clothes and packing away the summer stuff and taking things to Goodwill and so on.

But, purposeful or not, I adore puttering. I listen to my iPod and decompress by moving from project to project, usually just feeling JOYFUL that I am home, amongst my pets and my kids and my things. Home without some deadline looming oppressively. Home and free to be creative.

Which brings me to this post. I've been working on deadline for a while now, stressing over proposals, working on the story bible for my new top-secret project, and so on. Deadlines until I couldn't see straight. In fact, until my left eye developed a very un-Zen-like nervous twitch.

And finally, I got caught up. And finally, I got to come up for air. To me, coming up for air means getting to putter, to let my mind wander where it wants to, to play with my birds or to brush one of the dogs, to deadhead my flowers and sweep the front steps. And somehow, I am a better writer for days like today.

Anyone else?